Flaming Water, Frozen Earth
by MariaRoseSina
Summary: A serious Star Wars/Shingeki no Kyojin crossover! The Rebellion is besieged on all sides by the Galactic Empire, but its recent victories have given the Alliance new hope and resolve. Armin Artlet is a flight leader in Green Squadron, the Scouting Corps' elite snowspeeder strike group. Mostly Armin-centric, but there will be significant POV chapters with other characters.
1. Flaming Water, Frozen Earth: Chapter 1

**That's right, guys, this is a Star Wars crossover with Shingeki no Kyojin! I'll say no more and just let you guys read on!**

**For the most part, I've tried to base all AoT characters on their trainee academy personalities, with modifications to account for their in-universe personal histories. Our favorite Star Wars personalities will make their appearance very soon, so stay tuned!**

**If you liked this chapter/story, please do check out my other story: Just What Needs to be Thrown Aside?**

**And as always, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this new story, and please favorite and follow!**

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**Flaming Water, Frozen Earth**

**Chapter One:**

-DOCUMENT START-

INFORMATION AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC DISCLOSURE:

DOCUMENT#: FVX45897

CENTRAL GALACTIC LIBRARY, CORUSCANT

**We, soldiers of the Rebel Alliance, in the name of the free beings of the galaxy, solemnly vow:**

**To fight and oppose the Galactic Empire and its forces, by any and all means at our disposal;**

**To refuse any Imperial law contrary to the rights of free beings;**

**To bring about the destruction of the Galactic Empire and the restoration of the Republic;**

**To make forever free all beings in the galaxy.**

**To these ends, we pledge our property, our honor, and our lives.**

**-Military Oath of Allegiance to the Alliance to Restore the Republic**

-END OF DOCUMENT-

OOOOO

Armin Artlet had visited many worlds.

Some were full of paradise and promise—vibrant with life, temperate and resource-rich, hospitable to colonists from countless scattered corners of the galaxy. In his twenty years of life, Armin had grown to know a few of these quite well. Aldaraan, Corellia, Yavin IV, and Chandrila had been lush, green worlds, nourished by sunlight's touch and the kiss of soft rain. Even Dantooine had possessed a certain wild charm, its vast verdant plains whispering of adventure and unexplored beauty.

Other planets were unquestionably hells—black and red with volcanism, shrouded by toxic or acidic fume, whipped by raging winds and gaseous storms, or crushed beneath the titanic weight of their own atmospheres. Untold billions of exoplanets drifted in the cold of space, utterly dead and silent, home to nothing but rock, vacuum, and ultraviolet rays. Millions more existed only as gas giants, emitting deadly radiation pulses, their colorful clouds concealing violent turbulent forces that would shred a space vessel into fragments to be melted and vaporized by the pressures deeper within.

Armin Artlet had visited many worlds, but this one... this world was the first of its kind that he'd ever seen.

On days like this, when the barometric pressure was high and the air too cold to hold liquid moisture, the sky was clear and cloudless, baby blue and bright with the rays of the distant sun. Reflected light blazed across the expanse of snow and ice below. Soft blue shadows, delicate as watercolours, delineated the topography of ridges, while exposed rock slopes protruded like black scars from the sea of white.

Most of the year, however, when the frozen earth was hidden in low clouds and driving snow, their snowspeeders would patrol the clear skies high above the surface. Their repulsorlifts churning the floating wisps into vortexes behind them, they would ascend. Reaching cruising height, they flew across mountain ranges that poked like islands from a roiling ocean of grey and white. Meanwhile, six thousand feet below them, the blizzard was a deathtrap, capable of freezing a well-eqipped human solid with just five minutes of exposure.

At altitude, however, Hoth was a paradise, a wonderland.

As he peered through the windscreen of his modified Incom T-47 airspeeder down at the clouds below, Armin reflected that this planet looked like it was sleeping, buried in rest beneath the blankets of blue ice.

Here, on this untamed world, the Rebel Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic had raised its battered standard to rally once more the scattered galactic forces of good and hope.

With difficulty, Armin returned to the task at hand. He tore his eyes from the beautiful panorama around him, checked his place in their two-speeder flight formation, made a minute adjustment of the control yoke, and finally glanced intently at the scanner screens.

Nothing. Just the same twin dots twenty klicks east where Green Seven and Green Eight were searching. Not a single life signature to be seen on the ground.

A female voice from behind Armin broke through the whine of the T-47's twin engines.

"Armin, you think it's time to try again?" asked Flight Officer Mina Carolina from the rear gunner's seat. He heard the rustle of her flight harness as she turned in her seat to look at him over her shoulder. "We've covered ten klicks."

"Yeah…" Armin nodded, inwardly pessimistic.

There was no reason for their search pattern to be so broad. They were surveying an area well beyond the distance a tauntaun could have traveled from Echo Base in thirty hours, and the possibility that the missing soldiers could have made it this far was remote to ludicrously unlikely. Rogue Squadron was already sweeping the more plausible inner perimeter, yet Armin doubted that even they would find anything. Anything alive, that was. Still, General Rieekan and Leia Organa had been insistent.

Double-checking to verify that his transponder was set to broadcast using the standard Alliance military comm codes, Armin leaned forward slightly over his control yoke and repeated the same message that he'd been sending for the last three hours.

"Commander Luke Skywalker, this is Green Five. Do you copy? Over."

"I repeat, Commander Luke Skywalker, this is Green Five. Do you copy? Over."

Pause. No response.

"Captain Han Solo, this is Green Five. Do you copy? Over."

"Repeat, Captain Han Solo, this is Green Five of the Scouting Corps Tactical Air Squadron. Do you copy? Over."

A long minute passed with nothing but the high-pitched roar of the engines filling Armin's ears. Below them, ridgeline after tall ridgeline passed, barren and lifeless.

"Do you think they're still alive?" Mina asked hesitantly.

Armin shrugged before remembering that she couldn't see the gesture from the back seat.

"I'm not sure," he replied. He sighed, "I don't think it's very likely." He gripped the pilot's yoke tightly with his gloves, trying not to think about the reaction back at Echo Base if the Alliance's brightest hope, the hero of Yavin IV, was brought back as a frozen corpse.

Still… It was Commander Skywalker out there, Armin reminded himself, and if anybody could survive a night blizzard on Hoth… Couldn't Jedi place themselves into a protective hibernation state? He'd read about it in a datanet book once.

In front of him, the scanner readouts flickered as Mina ran through the sequence of relevant protocols, searching for comm chatter, electromagnetic signatures, life forms, metal objects, and infrared bodies. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

They had reached the boundary of the search zone. Hauling sideways on the control yoke, Armin pushed the snowspeeder into a moderate bank, starting the 180-degree turn that would place them on the next leg of the search-and-rescue mission path. Inside the cockpit, the sun's rays sent shadows sliding across the instrument panels with the speeder's turn. Simultaneously, a kaleidoscope of bright glare flashed across the interior of the transparisteel canopy. Armin enjoyed the light show, but frowned nonetheless. He would need to mention this to the maintenance crews back at base; something seemed to be causing the windscreen's anti-glare compound to deteriorate.

They flew onwards. Every ten kilometers, Armin broadcast the same set of search messages before waiting patiently for a response. Mina continued monitoring the sensor screens.

She cleared her throat. "Two o' clock. Tauntaun herd at eight klicks. Looks like six… uh, seven individuals, adults with a couple juveniles."

Simultaneously, Armin's comm channel lit up with an excited voice. "Green Five, this is Green Six! Green Five, this is Green Six! I think we've found them, repeat, I think we've found them!"

Armin instinctively turned his head to starboard, squinting at the horizon where a sharp black dot soared over the snowy crags. A moment later, his instrument panels flickered as Hannah and Franz transmitted their sensor data to him. He looked down and furrowed his brow.

"Green Six," he replied, "re-check your biosignature readings. That's just a group of tauntauns, over."

Hannah's voice sounded embarrassed. "Damn, you're right Armin… sorry about that…"

Armin heard Mina chuckle behind him as she reassured their wingmen, "Don't worry about it, Six, you just have to process the signal through all of the sensor modes and cross-check them. Keep up the good work!"

Armin refocused his attention on the sky ahead, making a minor course correction.

All things considered, the new recruits were learning fast.

Flight school training had been drastically shortened following their retreat from Yavin IV and the subsequent increases in both pilot losses and new blood. The squadron's newest fliers now made up almost a third of its total strength, and Commander Erwin had reorganized the unit to pair each rookie aircrew with a seasoned set of wingmen. A good training measure, but a poor organizational structure for combat. For that matter, Armin, Mina, and most of his fellow pilots had less than two years of experience.

Still, this was the Alliance, after all, ragtag, destitute, and improvisational to its core. By relative standards, theirs was an elite unit.

At least recruitment had ballooned in the last few years. Armin himself had joined in the first huge wave of fresh inductees following the destruction of Aldaraan. The shocking destruction of the Death Star shortly thereafter had completely electrified the idealists of the galaxy, flooding resistance cells across the stars with enlistees, funds, and messages of support.

_If what is good in sentient beings across the universe has not yet been destroyed even now, then evil shall never conquer._

The familiar quotation from one of Armin's favorite extranet novels rose to the surface of his mind, warm and hopeful.

At that precise moment, Armin's communications headset came alive.

"Green Five, this is Squadron Command. Green Five, this is Squadron Command."

He jumped in his seat in surprise as he recognized the voice of Colonel Brzenska. Her voice was trembling with uncharacteristic excitement, and Armin focused immediately on her words.

"We've found them! I repeat, the search is over. Rogue Group has located Commander Skywalker and Captain Solo, and a transport team is already en route. Green Five, your flight is ordered to discontinue search operations. Return to base immediately. Please acknowledge, over."

Armin felt his face break into a relieved smile. So they had survived! Against all possible odds, they had endured a long night at the mercy of unimaginable blizzard conditions. The good news was truly as unexpected as it was welcome.

He rushed to respond. "Acknowledged, Squadron Command. Should we move to assist with the recovery? Over."

"Negative," came Rico Brzenska's answer. "Rogue Squadron is on station to oversee the rescue. All Scouting Corps squadrons are to return to base. Good work. Squadron Command out."

Armin rapidly relayed the information and their new orders to the rest of his flight of four aircraft. From their scattered positions across eighty square kilometers of open air, the snowspeeders converged on him to reform. Hannah and Franz were the first to settle into position aft of their starboard beam. A minute or so later, Green Eight took up an identical station behind Armin's other shoulder. Armin turned briefly to look, and caught sight of Connie's grin behind his windscreen as he flashed a thumbs-up. Mikasa and Eren's speeder was still distant, but Eren was already subjecting their ears to whoops and cheers of exuberance at the news of the operation's success.

Mina had already entered a flight path for their return to Echo Base, and Armin swung the T-47 onto the new bearing. Ahead and below him, the sun caught a snow-capped peak and ignited the summit in a majestic flash of gold. He could see the faint shadow of their speeder racing across the ground, followed by two more as Connie and Hannah maneuvered their own craft to follow his.

They made the return flight to the outer perimeter in high spirits. Connie, Sasha, and Mina, soon joined by Eren after he and Mikasa rejoined the formation, rapidly abandoned all pretense of proper comm protocol, exchanging jokes and barbs, threatening to blow one another out of the sky, and loudly discussing their predictions for what the base canteen would serve for dinner later that evening. Sasha was particularly vocal despite Connie and Mina's teasing, having missed both breakfast and lunch so far today since their departure at first light five hours earlier.

Despite his rank as flight commander, Armin couldn't bring himself to enforce decorum, and found himself chucking at the antics of his wingmen. The Alliance had always had a loose, informal military culture anyway, hadn't it?

Besides, they were at the edge of the galaxy out here. Who was out here anyway to intercept their communications?

Soon, their flight of four snowspeeders neared the outermost defense sector surrounding Echo Base. Below them, the icy landscape appeared empty, devoid of weapon emplacements or stationary turrets. Invisible to the eye, a ring of advanced sensor stations lay buried in the ice, placed at intervals all around the central base in a circle that stretched one hundred kilometers in diameter. Perimeter Maria, the defense staff committee had designated it.

Armin reached out with his left hand to pull back on the throttle, slowing the T-47 from its cruising speed. Outside his cockpit, he could hear a chorus of high-frequency whines as his wingmen followed suit. Keying his transmitter to boost the IFF signal emitted by his T-47's onboard beacon, Armin opened a hailing comm channel to Echo Base.

"Control, this is Green Five, 57th Scouting Corps Tactical Air Squadron. My flight is approaching Echo Base from the southwest. Bearing: zero-two-two degrees. Range: 52.3 klicks out and closing. Requesting landing clearance and an approach vector for four T-47 combat airspeeders, over."

Behind him, Armin could hear the clicking of switches as Mina went through their pre-landing checklist, opening the engine cowlings, activating their landing lights, and running a systems assessment.

"Green Five, this is Control. Please authenticate, over."

Armin broke out into a grin. Was that who he thought it was? Only one voice could be so outwardly dispassionate, subtly edged with dry sarcasm and a hint of a mocking tone.

"Is that you Annie? This is Armin. I'm taking my flight back in from the search—could you give us a hangar assignment?" Their snowspeeder lurched as Armin pushed it into a slow descent.

"Negative, Green Five," came the response. Annie's voice was firm. "Permission to land denied. Remain at present altitude and transmit your authentication code immediately or you will be fired upon."

There were gasps of surprise from the other pilots in Armin's flight as alarms lit up in their cockpits, announcing that they were now being targeted by multiple laser and concussion missile batteries. Armin's own eyes widened in shock, and he immediately pulled the T-47 back onto a level flight path. "Annie!? What in the name of the Force are you doing!?"

There was no question about it. Annie was clearly enjoying herself as she replied, "Imperial Intelligence can create a passable artificial voice protocol from a five-second sample of voice chatter. A flawless replication is possible with a fifteen-second comm sample. Please authenticate for security purposes, over."

She had even left the antiaircraft batteries' targeting modules on. With sweat building inside his flight gloves and his insides churning with mingled embarrassment and indignation, Armin relented and spoke clearly into his transmitter.

"Sabaac-Delta-Seven-Mynock-Two-Four-Kilo. Please confirm, over."

Armin heard Mina giggle behind him, and he flushed.

The missile lock-on warning tone died, and alarm lights winked out across the instrument panel. Armin, realizing that he'd been holding his breath in apprehension, exhaled in a sigh of relief. Wondering at the ridiculousness of the situation, he tapped his fingers of his left hand against the throttle controls impatiently as he waited for Annie's response.

"Authentication confirmed. You are cleared to land at Hangar 6. Proceed northeast on your current bearing for twenty two klicks, then turn onto three-two-five for final approach, over." Her tone was businesslike, as though nothing had happened.

"Thanks, Annie… Green Five out," Armin said wearily as he signed off. He pulled back on the throttle controls, then eased the vehicle back into a shallow dive.

Mina was chuckling to herself again as she began her assigned preparations for landing. Shaking his head bemusedly, Armin asked her, "Do you know what that was all about, Mina?"

"Oh…" she replied mid-giggle, "I'll tell you later…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her helmet shake from side to side, and he thought he heard her mutter something about boys. Wondering what that meant, Armin returned his gaze to their flight path.

Slowly, the ground rose up towards their four snowspeeders as they lost altitude. Descending to eight hundred feet, they soared over the plains that stretched in all directions around the base. Here, the winds had sculpted the snow into a smooth blanket of soft shadows and sun-bleached white. Armin could see thick clouds of snowflakes roaring just above the ground, flung by gusts across the landscape below. The terrain was flat, a prairie of snowdrifts, unbroken by hills, ice sheets, or rock.

A perfect killing field.

Perimeter Rose. As they reached the far end of the open plain, their sensors began picking up signals from the three concentric rings of fortified defenses that faced outwards to protect the main base. From the cockpit, Armin could pick out the squat Golan Arms DF.9 laser turrets sitting just behind the zigzagging lines of trenches. Behind them stood the antiquated P-Tower anti-vehicle batteries, their dish-shaped silhouettes aimed across the exposed ground.

"Armin?" Mina spoke up from the rear-facing seat. "We've reached the nav point Annie gave us."

Armin made the necessary adjustment, and the snowspeeder's nose dipped and swung to the left onto their new bearing. On their right, Hannah was late to respond to the course change. Her speeder receded into the distance for several seconds, still flying on their previous heading, before suddenly careening into a sharp left bank. Her engines' exhaust glowing as she accelerated to rejoin the formation, Hannah apologized profusely over the comm for the lapse.

They flew onwards together, now just a dozen or so kilometers out from the base itself.

Above them, the dull yellow sun had slipped behind a layer of high-altitude clouds. The snowscape assumed a shade of steel gray, a tone of twilight replacing the midday glow. Simultaneously, Armin spotted the dark specks far ahead that marked the various hangar entrances of Echo Base, their armored doors built into the range of low hills.

On a sudden whim, Armin switched his transmitter to the squadron frequency. "Green Six? This is Green Five. Could you move to take our place in formation and lead the rest of the flight in for landing?"

"Roger that, Five. Why?"

"Just going to make a flyby of the base and enjoy the scenery for a bit."

"Okay." Hannah was already maneuvering ahead of them to assume the lead position.

"See you at chow time, Armin!" Eren called out over the comm as he and Mikasa overtook Armin's snowspeeder on the left.

Armin's speeder left the formation, climbing into a gradual turn that would take them on a wide circle around Echo Base.

Armin turned slightly in his seat. "Do you mind, Mina?"

"No, not at all," she replied. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Indeed it was. Hundreds of miles away across the plain, mountain crags rose towards the clouds like a distant cityscape—a majestic backdrop to the swirling sea of snow blowing across the open plain. Bright blades of sunlight slashed downwards where the high clouds were thin, highlighting broad patches of frozen ground far away. The sun itself, hidden though it was, had surrounded itself with a fuzzy yellow halo as it sat at the apex of the sky amidst a haze of cirrus clouds.

Armin felt a smile growing on his face as they turned and soared over the great hangar entrances, over hills and valleys dotted with sensor arrays, over tauntaun patrols, over the afternoon work parties laboring on the slopes to clear snow from the previous night's blizzard. On the southern slopes, the base's KDY Planet Defender ion cannon pointed towards the sky, casting a long shadow against the snow. A short distance away hovered a newly-arrived Galofree-class transport, its landing lights burning brightly as it offloaded fresh supplies. Up ahead, four tiny dots—a combat air patrol of four snowspeeders—slowly moved across the horizon.

Here, in one of the most inhospitable habitable environments the galaxy had to offer, the Rebellion had built a home. Facing this death sentence of a planet, they prepared to defiantly confront a death sentence imposed on them by the mightiest interstellar power that had ever existed.

Yet, in spite of their threadbare odds of success, in spite of the harsh conditions in which their resistance operated, in spite of the peril associated with armed resistance against the galactic regime, and in spite of the prospect of fighting a war that might stretch for centuries, their movement was growing. Ship by ship, recruit by recruit. News arrived every few days of fresh defections from navies across the Outer Rim, of new armed revolts upon world after world. The Alliance might have been beaten back, forced to give ground, but the furious hammerblows of the Empire themselves served as a testament to their rebellion's increasing strength.

And soon, the time for the Alliance's counterattack would come.

With one last look through his transparisteel canopy at Hoth's world of eternal winter, Armin turned their T-47 towards the hangar, towards home.


	2. Flaming Water, Frozen Earth: Chapter 2

**Flaming Water, Frozen Earth**

**Chapter Two**

OOOOO

-DOCUMENT START-

INFORMATION AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC DISCLOSURE:

DOCUMENT#: KKY22310

ALLIANCE GRAND MEMORIAL LIBRARY, CORUSCANT

_**SQUADRON PERSONELL ROSTER: 57th Scouting Corps Tactical Air Squadron.**_

**12 Incom Corporation T-47-11 Combat Airspeeders (winterized).**

**24 pilot-gunners (human).**

**FLIGHT ONE:**

**GREEN LEADER**: Cmdr. Erwin Smith (CO) (pilot) / Cpt. Mike Zacharius (gunner)

**GREEN TWO: **Cpt. Levi (pilot) / Lt. Cmdr. Hanji Zoë (XO) (gunner)

**GREEN THREE: **Cpt. Erd Jinn (pilot) / Cpt. Gunther Schultz (gunner)

**GREEN FOUR: **Flt. Lt. Petra Ral (pilot) / Flt. Lt. Auruo Bossard (gunner)

**FLIGHT TWO:**

**GREEN FIVE: **Flt. Lt. Armin Artlet (pilot) / Flt. Officer Mina Carolina (gunner)

**GREEN SIX: **Flt. Officer Hannah Hermann (pilot) / Flt. Officer Franz Müller(gunner)

**GREEN SEVEN: **Flt. Lt. Mikasa Ackerman (pilot) / Flt. Officer Eren Jeager (gunner)

**GREEN EIGHT: **Flt. Officer Connie Springer (pilot) / Flt. Officer Sasha Braus (gunner)

**FLIGHT THREE:**

**GREEN NINE: **Flt. Lt. Jean Kirstien (pilot) / Flt. Officer Marco Bott (gunner)

**GREEN TEN: **Flt. Officer Ymir (pilot) / Flt. Officer Christa Lenz (gunner)

**GREEN ELEVEN: **Flt. Lt. Reiner Braun (pilot) / Flt. Officer Bertholt Hoover (gunner)

**GREEN TWELVE: **Flt. Officer Thomas Wagner (pilot) / Flt. Officer Dazz Zusak(gunner)

-END OF DOCUMENT—

OOOOO

Captain Solo had visited many worlds.

Shivering at the sudden draft as the door leading to the hanger opened, Han Solo reflected that the frozen corridors of Echo Base almost reminded him of a particular ice palace resort back on Corellia. If it weren't, of course, for the absence of wealthy patrons, golden waitstaff droids, sabaac tables, or even decent interior lighting.

A group of ground crew technicians approached the door, wheeling a hovercart piled with power supply units, and Han stepped aside to let them pass. One of the mechanics, a Bothan, grinned at him as they maneuvered their cart past. "Thanks Captain Solo. Good to see the planet hasn't made an icicle out of you."

"Not yet," Han replied with a half-smirk.

Well, at least he was beginning to forget the stench of disemboweled tauntaun.

Shooting a smuggler's alert, instinctive glance around the vast hangar, Han stepped forward into the sea of deliberate activity swirling around the crowd of transports, fighters, and warships. Now that Luke was in stable condition, it was time to attend to a matter that had been neglected for far too long.

As he walked along a row of parked Y-wing bombers in the direction of the _Milennium Falcon_'s berth, a number of the pilots and soldiers looked up and waved in his direction. A sudden stirring of unease materialized deep inside him, and Han elected to nod back at the gathering before increasing his pace across the hangar floor. He looked determinedly at the floor as he passed other groups of ground crewmen walking in the other direction. These rebels were always so friendly, so quick to laugh and smile. Unlike the suspicious squint of a veteran smuggler or a fugitive's defensive glare, their eyes shone bright with idealism. They innocently believed in their revolution, and furthermore, they even saw him as their brother. Damn them.

They weren't making it any easier for him to leave.

Han passed a Galofree-class transport, its underside lit by the flare of a dozen fusion cutters. A day before Luke's unlucky wampa encounter, he'd given the lead technician in charge of repairs a word of advice about hull plate replacement. A week ago, he'd found himself in a conversation with a squad of Alliance commandos, exchanging views on optimal blaster rifle power settings for defeating stormtrooper armor. Three years had passed since the destruction of the Death Star over Yavin. During that time, he'd eaten, slept, fought, and flown side-by-side with the Alliance soldiers and pilots in a dozen battles, all while looking over his shoulder for Jabba's bounty hunters and assassins. He'd stuck around with the Alliance far longer than he'd ever intended to, hadn't he? What else could a penniless starship captain with a price on his head hope to do?

At that moment, Han's ears picked up a new, familiar set of footsteps behind him. A paw smelling of oil, coolant, and fur landed heavily on his shoulder as Chewbacca growled a greeting. The Wookie slowed to match his stride.

"Hey Chewie,"

They walked side-by-side down the ranks of starships as they had in a thousand spaceports across the galaxy.

Chewbacca was midway through describing a prioritized list of repairs to Han when the two of them rounded a utility vehicle and came face-to-face with the angular bow of the _Milennium Falcon_. There it sat, dirty and battle-scarred as ever, the glow of the hangar lights reflected dully by its white-grey plating. Partly due to Chewbacca's emphatic insistence, the old Corellian freighter had been placed in an area largely to itself to avoid the risk of collision with other craft as they came and went. At any rate, Alliance mechanics had learned to give her a wide berth after a few of them had learned, thankfully without injury, just how protective Chewie was of the ship. Sometimes, Han had to wonder just who his Wookie companion had sworn a life-debt to—him, or the _Falcon?_

Faulty maintenance of the _Falcon_ had once caused her to suffer a near-catastrophic drive failure mid-jump. Ever since, Chewbacca had vowed that only he and Han would ever be allowed to service the freighter. On two occasions, Han had saved hapless, well-meaning spaceport crews only by physically throwing himself in front of the enraged Wookie. As for the most recent time that a spaceport dock worker had attempted to perform repairs on the ship, Chewbacca had torn three arms off the guilty alien. Only a hefty bribe and the fact that the victim's species was capable of rapid regeneration had saved the two of them from life sentences.

Han's first thought was that he'd never learn to understand why he always felt an immense upwelling of affection every time he laid his eyes on the freighter. His second thought was that the starboard-most landing strut looked worn, and ought to be serviced. His third thought, however, was interrupted by a charged bellow of rage that froze his blood and sent his hand immediately to the holster at his hip. That was when Han saw the woman standing underneath the _Falcon_, turning in shock as she lowered the tool she'd been using on the ship's underside.

Spinning, Han saw Chewbacca charging forward, letting out another battle yell as he rushed at the intruder with fangs bared. Cries of warning rang out around them as other ground crew members realized what was happening. In front of Chewie, a repair droid failed to get out of the way in time and was sent flying across the hangar floor by several hundred pounds of Wookie flesh.

Han suddenly became aware of the cool polymer of his blaster pistol's grip underneath his palm, and he froze.

Han was reacting far too late to intervene. His own blaster was useless—he'd long ago removed the stun setting in order to boost its power and range. Worse, its touch reminded him of a terrible fact that he'd learned long ago.

A Wookie's nervous system was incredibly—sometimes fatally—sensitive to the powerful neurological shock delivered by a stunning blaster bolt.

Chewbacca's target was a waiflike girl with blond hair, short and slender even by human standards. Her eyes were wide with surprise as she stared at the Wookie charging her, and her own hand had moved to the small blaster at her hip.

An overwhelming fear for his copilot's safety overrode Han's indecision, and he screamed, "Chewie! Cool it! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Desperately hoping that this was all just a nightmare, he yanked his blaster pistol from its holster and wondered if he dared risk a shot aimed at his companion's legs.

Across the floor, Han could see Alliance personnel sprinting towards them with horrified expressions. Their mouths opened and closed, but their yells were hopelessly drowned out as Chewbacca continued to roar as he ran, promising death and endless pain for the human that had dared to touch his ship.

The girl technician's face was white with terror, and she seemed rooted helplessly to the ground at the sight of the massive alien charging her.

At the last moment, Han lifted his pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling. It had no effect; his copilot either ignored the sound or didn't hear it. Out of options, Han leveled the blaster and prayed to the Force that he wasn't about to kill his best friend.

Chewbacca closed to striking distance and lunged.

In that instant, the girl finally moved. Gone was the stationary victim. Suddenly, the human was dropping to avoid Chewbacca's left-pawed swipe. In a flash, she cut to the right—out of the Wookie's path. Her left arm rose automatically to deflect the surprised Wookie's instinctive attempted grasp. Simultaneously, the girl pivoted, then threw the entirety of her not-very-substantial weight into her opponent's back and hip. Chewbacca grunted in astonishment as he twisted, carried forward by his own weight and momentum to crash, sprawling, upon the ground.

In the time it took Han's jaw to drop, the mysterious technician had bounded several paces away before turning again to face her assailant. Chewbacca clambered onto one knee and raised his head only to find himself staring into the snout of the girl's snub-nosed blaster.

The weapon's barrel wasn't even quivering.

Han shakily lowered and holstered his own pistol, suddenly aware that the hangar had fallen silent just as instantaneously as it had erupted into chaos moments before. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his vest, familiar battle adrenaline still surging through his bloodstream. The faint smell of ozone and expended blaster gas hung in the air, lingering from the single shot he had fired. Dozens of Alliance mechanics and supply workers stood motionlessly around them, some with their blasters drawn, a few with comlinks half-raised to their lips. Half of them were still tense and ready for action, watching Chewbacca nervously. The other half gaped, some of them mouthing silently in shock to themselves. Dumbfounded at what he had just witnessed, Han joined them in staring openly at the woman who had just floored an adult male Wookie.

At a second glance, it was clear that she wasn't a tech at all. Instead of an assortment of repair tools, her belt was fitted with a bizarre blend of tech devices and practical infantry equipment: comlinks, datapad, vibroblade, blaster holster, power packs, a broad-spectrum comm scrambler/descrambler, and what looked like a silenced slugthrower. Han would have tagged her as a common smuggler or information thief were it not for her clothing. Her uniform was an unusual dark blue design that Han wasn't familiar with, and the patch on her shoulder bore the horned yatta-beast insignia of the base's Interior Security Brigade.

Even had she been wearing a mechanic's garb, her combat experience was obvious. The girl's stance was far too clean—her feet spread for balance, her grip on her blaster perfect. Most of all, however, her eyes betrayed her identity as a fighter. Steel blue and focused behind her fringe of blonde hair, they spoke of hardened martial training.

Chewbacca had risen to his feet. He too, cocked his head at the strange female, emitting a low curious growl. From the look of it, his rage had been completely replaced by total bewilderment.

Han couldn't repress a chuckle as he turned to his embarrassed copilot.

"You really need to work on first impressions, fuzzball."

Around them, the crowd continued to watch the scene, though most of those that remained seemed progressively more convinced that the situation was on the road to a peaceful resolution. A supply officer was speaking into his comlink to one side, cancelling his prior request for a tactical reaction squad. An orange-clad pilot called out to the woman. "You allright, ma'am?"

Chewbacca's adversary responded silently by straightening from her firing stance and returning her blaster to her belt. Slouching slightly where she stood, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

Han frowned, deciding that her nonchalant attitude irritated him. Turning to the girl, he stuck a finger at her "You're lucky Chewie didn't put you on the medbay's priority list for limb replacements. What in the galaxy were you doing to my ship, anyway?"

"I noticed something dripping from an access panel in your hull," she answered. "I thought to take a look."

Han inspected the ventral surface of the _Falcon_, and sure enough, a steady drip of water was seeping from the panel below the ship's galley. Damn plumbing, he thought. There had to be a leak in the freshwater pipes again. For that matter, water shouldn't even be leaking from the seal around that access point. It looked like he and Chewie would have to run a hull integrity check again.

What a piece of junk indeed.

"Yeah? Thanks." Han replied guardedly, "Next time, _send_ someone to tell one of us instead of risking death by Wookie."

The girl shrugged.

Chewie growled, giving the would-be meddler a stern warning for the future.

New sets of footsteps clattered against the ground. Han looked behind him to observe a group of newcomers just arriving at the scene. A squad of five rebel soldiers was slowing to a halt and shouldering their weapons. They glanced between him and Chewbacca, looking somewhat disappointed that they had missed the show.

At the same time, an Alliance pilot in full flight uniform was suddenly standing at Han's shoulder. He clutched his helmet beneath one arm with the same cocky ease as any of the base's other fighter aces. Yet, in contrast to the mature confidence of his posture, the pilot's blond hair was cut like a child's and tangled from hours spent beneath flight headgear. The human flier's expression was earnest and friendly.

"Everything all right here, Captain?" the pilot asked with a broad smile.

"Ask Chewie," Han quipped. Chewbacca rumbled a guarded greeting.

Han gave the newcomer a rapid evaluation. That accent, beyond any doubt, indicated a homeworld somewhere within the Galactic Core. Flight Lieutenant's insignia on both shoulders and checkerboard patches on the sides of the flier's helmet identified him as a veteran of at least one major campaign. Short of stature and clean-shaven, the youth couldn't be older than twenty-two at most by Han's estimation.

"X-wing pilot?"

"Yessir. 57th Tac Air. We were out looking for you this morning." The youth beamed and offered his hand. "I'm Armin Artlet."

Han accepted the handshake. "Pleasure, flight lieutenant."

The two of them watched casually as the newly arrived soldiers interviewed Chewbacca and the woman from the Interior Security Brigade in turn. Seemingly satisfied that the risk of violence had abated, the squad leader gave orders to post a permanent guard detail around the ship, earning a hum of approval from the Wookie. When the sergeant turned to ask that the girl apologize, however, he was met with narrowed eyes that seemed to dare him to repeat the request.

Han chuckled. The girl's expression had led him to think of another young woman who could deliver a similar icy glare at the drop of a coin. Leia was also well capable of taking care of herself in a fight too, as he well knew, though Han conceded that he doubted that she would be able to fend off an enraged Wookie.

Well, that was what a rogue like him was around for, right?

His heart, buoyed by the princess's image in his mind, suddenly constricted as he remembered again that he was leaving her too. He clenched his hands into fists.

At his side, the pilot frowned, noticing the smuggler captain's sudden tension. Han hurriedly crossed his arms to hide his earlier gesture, and the two of them stood side by side amidst an uncomfortable silence.

In a transparent attempt to defuse the atmosphere, Armin Artlet nodded in the direction of the _Millennium Falcon_. "She's a beautiful ship." He smiled nervously. "You should hear some of the stories some of the other pilots have been telling about what you and Chewbacca have accomplished."

Han snorted. "I've heard most of them," he said dismissively. "You shouldn't believe everything people tell you."

"I think a few of them have been confirmed by quite reliable sources," Artlet replied. "Rescuing the Princess from the Death Star…"

Han shrugged semi-modestly, and didn't mention the fact that he'd had to be convinced to attempt the rescue in the first place.

Unaware of the truth, Artlet was gazing at Han with open admiration.

In many ways, this kid was representative of the Alliance military as a whole—young and eager to fight, yet mature and aware of the magnitude of the herculean struggle they faced. It didn't seem to matter how many Star Destroyers and stormtrooper armies the Emperor commissioned… the rebels would fight against the odds all the same. Idealistic and selfless, they would rather die than live in a galaxy that was anything but free.

Han had, however, just come across at least one Alliance soldier that didn't seem to fall into the same personality category. He frowned, and nodded towards the girl standing a short distance away observing them dispassionately.

"That woman… she just…" he began, swallowing as the memory of the incident with Chewie replayed once again in his mind. Finding his voice again, he finally asked Armin Artlet "Who the hell is she?"

The pilot laughed, and his blue eyes flickered over to settle on his fellow soldier. "That's Annie. She's a field agent with our counterintelligence unit."

Han gave her a third glance out of the corner of his eye. Young, probably around Artlet's age. Pretty, though quite plain in any fair comparison with the princess, at least in Han's opinion. More than anything, though, she seemed to radiate an attitude of disdainful independence.

"What's that, a Commando unit?"

"Espionage," Artlet corrected him, then added softly, "She's ex-Imperial Intelligence."

Han raised an eyebrow at that. Well that explained a lot, particularly the attitude. "_Ex-Imperial Intelligence?_"

Armin Artlet noticed the look in his eyes and replied hastily, "most of Alliance Intelligence is ex-Imperial. Otherwise, we wouldn't have a chance at understanding how to secure our communications from them or how to prevent spies from infiltrating us." The pilot frowned. "There have been betrayals… but we don't have much of a choice. As for Annie, she's on our side for certain, anyway."

"Yeah, well…" Han growled, unsatisfied. "I've heard stories of Intelligence officers being ordered to kill one another to establish cover identities."

The youth nodded. Something in Artlet's eyes, however, indicated that he trusted his deadly comrade deeply. After a moment's pause, the pilot took a deep breath and stated, "She's genuinely a part of the Alliance. Her father is a sector head of espionage in the Imperial Navy."

Han didn't have to have the implications clarified further for him.

A number of the Alliance's rarest and most valuable recruits were members of the galactic elite—generally young, often highly-placed and well-connected—led by compassion for the Alliance cause to throw away all of that power and wealth, to risk their lives by placing themselves and their secret knowledge at the rebels' disposal. The consequences of defection were grave. The poor girl likely had a death price on her head in the millions of credits, and would undoubtedly never see her family again in her lifetime.

Who were these people, who dared to give up everything for a fool's chance of a rebellion, for some dim hope of founding a new, republican, egalitarian galactic order…?

The hubbub of voices, machinery, and power tools had arisen once more, returning the hangar to its natural atmosphere of industrious activity. Annie was leaving the scene now, walking away slowly without a backward glance. Her measured pace as she passed pairs and trios of Echo Base personnel made it seem as though nothing had occurred at all, as though she were just another humble, unremarkable soldier in the service of the Rebel Alliance.

"The Empire doesn't forget or forgive." There was a strange sadness in Artlet's expression as he stared blankly down the row of starships after her. Suddenly, the youth turned to Han and looked the older man directly in the eye.

"You know you can't go just go back to the way things were before—to being an unknown smuggler again."

He knew they were leaving? Han started in surprise, caught off guard by the revelation that word of his imminent departure had spread. Unprepared, he found himself unable to respond.

His shock must have registered in his eyes. Armin Artlet shook his head slightly, as though rebuking himself for having gone too far.

For an instant, neither of them said a word. Then, with an unspoken implication that he understood and respected Han's decision, the pilot extended his hand a second time and gave the smuggler a small smile. "I'm glad I could introduce myself before you took off. Thank you for everything that you've done, Captain Solo. We'll miss having you around."

"Thanks." They shook hands, and Han added sincerely, "Watch your six out there, kid."

The youth's blond head nodded.

Han recognized a familiar nervous haste in the posture of the pilot's shoulders as Flight Lieutenant Armin Artlet hurried off in the direction the girl had gone.

So that's how it was, Han thought to himself. He smirked. Kid probably didn't even know it himself yet.

Well, good luck to him.

Han watched the orange flight suit vanish into the sea of activity swirling around the hangar floor. He stood there a moment longer, his mouth thinned, and then he turned back towards Chewbacca and the _Millenium Falcon_.

A decade later, Chewbacca would find himself bested in hand-to-hand combat for the second time in his life by a certain alien assassin in the skies above a planet called Honoghr. In the following days on that strange world, he would recall that cold morning in the main hangar of Echo Base and the puny human female who had neutralized his headlong rush without batting an eye. Stretching his long limbs, staring up at an unfamiliar sky, and frowning at the aches and pains from a dozen past battles, he would think back across the long years and wonder to himself, briefly, what her fate had been.

OOOOO

"Annie, you're being a really mischievous person today, aren't you?"

Armin had caught up with Annie just as she was passing from the main hangar to the supply depot. Ducking around a cargo vehicle piled high with foodstuff containers, he ran the last couple of steps until he was walking beside her.

"Armin." She acknowledged him without so much as a nod or a glance. Usually, Annie's voice remained in a deadpan monotone, filled with seeming disinterest. When she had just spoken, however, her speech had slipped briefly into a mode almost musical in pitch, almost as though his name was a fragment of the lyrics to some song.

Registering the odd tone, Armin wondered briefly if she was still mocking him after the incident earlier that morning. Well, he was glad someone had enjoyed the joke she'd pulled—those had been _real _laser and concussion missile batteries, for galaxy's sake. Half-seriously, Armin decided that Annie probably needed a hobby. Ideally, a hobby other than thrashing sparring droids, other soldiers, and full-grown Wookies into submission with her bare hands.

They walked past a freshly-arrived array of ground sensor equipment. Armin watched Annie's eyes briefly scan the devices and saw her brow furrow as she inspected them with an expert's gaze.

Simultaneously, Annie cleared her throat. "I'm surprised. You haven't reported me yet for arming twenty sets of antiaircraft weapons without authorization."

"Well… I… You—"Armin sputtered. "—I knew you didn't mean it at the time."

"I did mean it." Annie lifted her head from the sensor shipment. "I was bored. And it sure didn't sound like you thought I wasn't serious." He could barely hear her voice over the whine of servomotors filling the equipment depot.

Armin flushed at the memory and felt heat rise to the surface of his cheeks despite the chilly base atmosphere. "I could recommend you some good extranet novels if you're so bored…" he offered.

Annie narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, and Armin promptly shelved that suggestion.

"You're not supposed to access the extranet without direct permission," Annie reminded him. Armin further remembered that she had the authority to ground him from flying as punishment for the infraction, and he bitterly reflected that she might well be bored enough to be amused by ordering an investigation into his datapad usage patterns.

Annie shrugged, however, and Armin interpreted the gesture to mean that she wouldn't pursue his breach of data discipline any further.

They moved from the supply bay into one of the transit corridors themselves, headed in the general direction of the central base. Armin still needed to stow his flight suit in the pilot ready room. Annie, he supposed, was bound for the canteen for her customary post-duty cup of caf.

Unlike the cavernous, crowded hangar and cargo bays, the halls of Echo Base were dark and claustrophobic. Droids and base personnel crowded the passages, shuffling awkwardly past one another through the regular bottlenecks at doors and corners. Up ahead, a contingent of rebel freighter crewmen late for their ship's scheduled departure jogged towards them in the opposite direction, calling out to be let through. Annie stepped aside first, and Armin squeezed himself next to her against the side of the corridor to make room for the group. The icy surface at his back dug painfully into his flight suit, its chilly touch a sharp contrast to the faint warmth where Annie's shoulder was briefly pressed into the side of his arm. The burly spacefarers barreled past, one of them turning with a shout of thanks. As the sound of footsteps against the durasteel floor plating trailed off into the distance, Annie was the first to push herself away from the wall and resume navigating through the crowd. Armin transferred his flight helmet to his other arm and followed, muttering an apology as he cut through a pair of infantry officers.

As they stepped into the hallway's dim lighting, they passed a tall, white-furred Talz soldier headed in the opposite direction, and Armin suddenly remembered why he had wanted to catch up to her in the first place. "I saw what happened earlier at the _Millenium Falcon_," he began. "You know, you might end up being almost as famous as Captain Solo once people find out that you sent Chewbacca to the ground in hand-to-hand fighting."

Annie broke into a rare ghost of a smile. "That kind of trick only works once. I had the element of surprise because he underestimated me."

"Did they teach you that technique in Intelligence School?" Armin asked.

Annie's eyes flashed briefly, and he feared for an instant that she was about to respond by giving him the silent treatment, or worse. To his surprise, however, she relented and answered.

"We were informed as trainees that rebel groups and warlords liked to look for powerful alien brutes as enforcers and soldiers. When they taught us unarmed fighting, they focused specifically on ways to surprise stronger nonhuman species."

Annie's face hardened as she spoke, and Armin realized that she was unconsciously slipping into the persona she cultivated for sparring and marksmanship practice. Behind her blue eyes, he could see her visualizing martial techniques—the traps and escapes, the footwork, the evasions and deflections.

Once again, Armin was left to wonder at Annie's past.

Annie had only joined the Alliance military a short time before Armin's arrival, but rumors had already begun spreading by then about how the first soldier who had tried patting her on the shoulder had ended up in sickbay for a week, or how she had bested the crew of an entire frigate in a blaster pistol competition. Indeed, she had cultivated quite the reputation at Echo Base for her martial skill, her enigmatic character, and for her tendency to cause trouble every once in a while.

There was also the matter of her background. He shuddered. Armin felt cold suddenly, and the frigid halls of Echo Base were not entirely to blame.

Imperial Intelligence was infamous for a training regime that dehumanized and indoctrinated its recruits to the breaking point, stripping them of their natural inhibitions and moral conscience in order to mold trainees into loyal, unquestioning servants of the Empire. The ideal graduate was a blank slate, a mask without any remaining shred of the person they had once been. Of the many other Intelligence agents that found their way into the Alliance military, many encountered difficulties socializing or adopting a normal lifestyle, and most favored a reclusive existence, interacting only with their immediate superiors and colleagues within the rebel movement's counterintelligence and espionage departments. That said, it was quite plain to Armin that Annie's personality had very much survived her time in Imperial service. Her dark sense of humor, her cynicism, and her fierce pride in her own capabilities were clearly marked by her past, but her experiences, whatever they had been, seemed to have left the core of her personal identity unharmed. Annie worked well enough with others, and she appeared to be at home with the everyday pulse of base life. Sure, she was generally quiet, and preferred observation to participation in conversations and social activities—but these were her own choices, not the remnants of old training.

Like the tunnels of an anthill, the interior of Echo Base snaked erratically through the rock of the ridge it had been carved into. Sections of passageways narrowed without warning, or transitioned into steep inclines as they walked deeper into the complex. To the left, an open set of double doors led into the naval officer's lounge, and Armin briefly caught a glimpse of the famed starfighter ace Wedge Antilles, dressed in a casual uniform, sprawled across a soft chair and conversing with two of Rogue Squadron's other senior members. Spotting Armin's orange pilot's suit in the hallway outside, the veteran pilot turned to face the door and gave him a small wave, an expression of vague recognition behind his eyes.

Armin waved back hurriedly, then they were past the brightly lit doorway, marching further down the passage.

"Have you thought at all about what you'd do after all of this, Annie?" Armin chose that moment to ask. "After you leave the military?"

Annie frowned. She inclined her head ever so slightly in Armin's direction as she replied, sending a faint puff of condensation into the air in front of her as the moisture on her breath cooled. "After all of this?"

Armin nodded.

He was taken aback by the biting question she aimed at him in return. "Are you really so hopeless, Armin?" she began. "Do you really think that, at the end of all this fighting, there is a future where a normal life is possible for us?"

Armin's eyes widened, then he frowned. "What do you mean? Of course—don't trillions and trillions of individuals live normal lives across the galaxy?"

This time, Annie turned her head completely and gave Armin a long, evaluatory look.

"Armin, this rebellion will never be over within our lifetimes," she said, sighing. She returned her gaze to the passageway before them. "And if it is, then the end of the war will have come about because the Empire will have defeated us."

A vision materialized in Armin's mind of wrecked Rebel fleets and shattered bases, of a cackling Emperor announcing the end of the upstart rebellion to thunderous applause and the roar of fireworks from the balcony of the Galactic Senate. Tendrils of fear shivered through his body as he realized that such a future was disconcertingly easy to imagine.

"Annie, does that mean you don't even think that we can win?"

Suddenly, Annie stopped, and Armin realized that they had reached the door to the base canteen. The smell of cooked vegetables, meats, and caf emanated past the threshold, causing Armin's stomach to stir impatiently. Instead of entering, however, Annie lifted her chin and rested her eyes on the Alliance starbird crest painted above the entryway.

"Does it even matter what I think?" she retorted. "The Death Star was nothing. The Alliance hasn't even managed to permanently liberate one world with a population of over ten billion. Instead, the Empire has driven us back from system after system, crushing uprisings in weeks and months..." Armin opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off, adding, "If we're going to win the civil war in the end, why are we hiding in a place like this, on the edge of the galaxy, hoping that we'll survive a few more years because we've gone somewhere too cold and too distant to be noticed?"

Some of the base personnel eating at the tables closest to the door raised their heads upon hearing what Annie was saying. When Armin noticed them, they quickly averted their glance, staring back down at plates of food as though unaware of the conversation. Two of the women at the closest table exchanged looks briefly, one of them squinting at Annie out of the corner of her eye.

Armin chose too to pretend that nobody was listening as he took his chance to reply. "It's obvious that we're outmatched," he protested, gesturing at their surroundings with a gloved hand. Snaking bundles of power conduits, light fixtures that sputtered and glowed dimly, and ice-shrouded walls were encompassed by the sweep of his arm. "I think we all know that it's not going to be an easy war."

"We're weak and short on supplies, and we can't fight a straight battle, but at the same time the Empire is overstretched and growing more unpopular every year. The rebel movement is more than just the Alliance, more than just us soldiers… The harder the Imperial military tries to stamp out freedoms, the more difficult they make things for themselves. They can hurt us, but they can't kill us all…" Armin paused. "—and that means that one day, we'll end them eventually."

Annie rolled her eyes. She took a step backwards to lean against the doorframe. Crossing her arms, a wave of golden hair fell across her forehead as she lowered her head. "Okay. So the Empire stamps out the rebellion in corner after corner of the galaxy, only for it to burst into flame somewhere new. Then, the war never ends… not for decades, maybe centuries even…"

For a moment, her words trailed off. Briefly, Annie raised her head, meeting Armin's eyes with her own. "If that's the case, how many millions and billions of lives are you willing to sacrifice before you decide that the rebellion isn't worth it anymore?"

As a shiver traveled down Armin's spine, Annie looked back down to the ground. "Hundreds of billions of people are dead, Armin. Some were just bystanders in the wrong place during our battles, others were killed in the millions in retaliation as punishment for rebellions… all because a group of hopeless idealists like us are willing to fight a war for the sake of a galactic democracy that may not even work."

"…might not even work?" Armin echoed weakly. "Annie… are you saying what I—"

Annie cut him off, crossing her arms. "The galaxy is a dark place." Her expression darkened as she frowned, staring moodily at the dirty floor at Armin's feet. "Do you think that anyone will even remember your name a hundred years from now?"

Armin felt a fire growing inside him, an anger at Annie's words that threatened to burst out with the force of a grenade. He suddenly realized that his fists were clenched, the material of his pilot's gloves creased tightly by the force of his fingers. His words trembled as he finally brought himself to reply. "It doesn't matter if we're forgotten. It doesn't even matter if we lose." Armin took a deep breath. "Annie—what matters is that on the day that the Empire reached out to strangle the freedom of hundreds of trillions of people, somebody fought to save it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Armin could see some of their fellow rebels seated around the mess hall tables nodding at his words, their faces set in agreement. The guard standing at the other side of the doorway seemed to be standing taller and straighter, his blaster rifle held at a prouder, more defiant angle to his body.

"Right now, a million beings are being vibroknifed in back alleys, or getting executed for crimes they didn't commit, or starving to death with their entire families." Annie's eyes were suddenly soft and unfocused as she spoke, and her stare seemed to penetrate the floor plating and the rock beneath, through the other side of the planet and into the vast, infinite space beyond. Her voice, too, was surprisingly gentle. "It's admirable to want to do something, to try and make the galaxy a better place… but when a single person's efforts just get swallowed up and forgotten, is it so wrong to be self-centered and settle for what you have?"

"Is it such a bad thing, to live a selfish life?" she finished.

Armin looked at her. Her dark gray uniform jacket fit her as though made for her. Her equipment belt sat across her hips at just the right angle for a rapid blaster draw. Navy blue trousers thrust into her combat boots completed the picture of a deadly Alliance operative, an efficient, seasoned officer and soldier.

When Armin spoke again, his voice had lost its earlier tremor. "Annie…It's not such a bad thing. But, if that's what you think, why did you join the Alliance at all then?"

Annie's head shot up. This time, their eyes met as if by accident, and Armin was stunned as, for a moment, he witnessed waves of anger and hurt crashing in the sea of her blue pupils. Gone was the cynicism, the guarded glare, and Armin looked for an instant into the heart of a soul just as lost and haunted by ghosts as his own.

She must have recognized something in turn, and she widened her own eyes briefly before looking away across the banks of tables filling the canteen. When Armin looked again, her face had outwardly reassumed its normal expression, yet something seemed to be ever so slightly different in the pose of her neck, in the lines of her lips.

"I was curious."

Armin was surprised by her words until he remembered that he had asked her a question.

Annie crossed her arms, "I wondered what kind of people would give up everything for nothing."

Her voice became so quiet that even Armin had to focus in order to hear her at all. "They showed us holovids of live, real interrogations in training. We could all see that these were real people, no different from us… they cried out for their parents and begged—but there was something else…"

For a long time, Annie said nothing more. A minute must have passed before she continued softly, "something else led them to resist… to say nothing for days no matter what methods the agents used… it took weeks before…" He saw her swallow.

Finally, Annie said, "When I defected, I wanted many things, but one of the things I wanted was to meet these people, and to find out if I was at all like them."

Armin thought back to his own path, the sequence of events over the months and years that had brought him to this remote part of the galaxy, placing him in this uniform with a lieutenant's pips on his breast. He remembered the crisis that had led him to first question his passive tolerance of the galactic regime. He remembered the dark, tormented night when he'd made the decision at last, the months of careful searching, avoiding the lethal Imperial traps for would-be Alliance recruits, the merciless weeks-long rebel investigation into his own background upon his initial recruitment. He remembered the pilot training program, the accidents that had claimed friends and comrades. He remembered his first mission, his first flight through a storm of starfighters and laser fire, surviving more by luck than due to any skill or training. It passed through his mind in a blur, leaving him feeling far older than his twenty years.

"I know what you mean," he finally replied, and he meant it.

She looked back to him briefly, and Armin was forced to wonder if he had just imagined another ghostlike smile.

"See you around, Armin." Annie gave him a tiny wave, then stepped into the cafeteria towards the caf machine.

The old memories that Annie's words had conjured up, once summoned, could not be so easily dismissed. Lost in thought, Armin walked the remainder of his journey in a daze, barely registering the groups of soldiers, support personnel, staff administrators he passed. He was faintly aware of passing the whine of engines being tested in the maintenance halls, then the muffled blasts from behind the heavy doors leading to the blaster rifle and pistol range. Finally, he reached his destination. Armin smiled emptily at the greetings of his squadron mates, excusing himself as he punched the door controls on the other side of the junior pilot officer's common area. He stepped into the warmth of the pilot's ready room, his feet leading him by memory until he faced his own name, inscribed across the face of his equipment locker.

**ARMIN ARTLET**

**FLIGHT LIEUTENANT 1ST CLASS**

**57 SQN (SCTAS)**

As he grasped the edge of the locker door to open it, Armin's thumb briefly touched the grooves of a fourth line of text engraved just below the first three. Even though he had seen the sign hundreds of times, Armin glanced for a long moment at that final set of characters and briefly felt the familiar stirrings of loss and sorrow etch fresh cuts into his heart. Older memories, half-forgotten, floating to the surface of his mind, Armin determinedly averted his eyes from the words and swung the locker completely open, hiding the plaque from sight.

The final line read:

**SHIGANSHIMA, ALDARAAN**


	3. Flaming Water, Frozen Earth: Chapter 3

**Flaming Water, Frozen Earth**

**Chapter Three**

-DOCUMENT START-

INFORMATION AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC DISCLOSURE:

DOCUMENT#: SKN14890

CENTRAL GALACTIC LIBRARY, CORUSCANT

**THE ALLIANCE STARBIRD**

Immortalized by its use by the **Alliance to Restore the Republic** during the **Galactic Civil War**, **THE ALLIANCE STARBIRD** was adopted in the Year 33 of the Galactic Standard Calendar by the Alliance at the time of its founding in order to serve as the official symbol of the united rebel resistance opposing the rule of the **Galactic Empire** under **Emperor Palpatine**.

Drawn in the form of a crest, the Starbird depicts a stylized rising **phoenix** lifting its wings in flight, a metaphor for the Alliance's birth amidst the ashes of **The Old Republic**. The **origin** of the symbol is unclear, with theories ranging from its evolution from a mythological Aldaraanian rune **(note)** to its original identity as the family crest of one of the Alliance's lesser-known founding members. The original design in crimson is considered most emblematic of the Rebel Alliance, though renditions in alternative colors such as blue, gold, and white on a field of blue or red were also commonly used both during and after the conflict. Soldiers and pilots of the Alliance regularly painted the symbol upon combat vehicles and flight helmets or incorporated it into their battle standards with varying degrees of fidelity.

Following its adoption, the Alliance Starbird rapidly achieved instant recognition across the stars, capturing the imagination of billions of dissidents, activists, and resistance groups across known space. To many, its sharp aesthetic contrast to the harsh angularity of the **Seal of the Galactic Empire** served as a fitting illustration to the ideals separating the two warring factions. Iconic and memorable, the Starbird transcended its role as a mere crest of the Rebel Alliance, embodying and inspiring a collective spirit of sacrifice, valor, perseverance, and hope with a single work of artistic genius. Perhaps, more so than any other symbol before or after it, the Starbird is destined to be forever remembered in the annals of the history of the galaxy, long after all other emblems have been forgotten amidst the countless millennia of future time.

**-THE 822nd ENCYCLOPEDIA GALACTICA, VOL 57 (MILITARY AFFAIRS AND GALACTIC POLITICS)**

-END OF DOCUMENT—

OOOOO

The next days passed unremarkably, much as the previous months had. They patrolled the base perimeter daily, sweeping the skies in groups of four amidst all but the harshest weather. At home, the never-ending work of expanding and renovating Echo Base continued, with construction crews swarming this hall or that one to add new rooms and transform recent, temporary work into more permanent architecture.

Here, on the edge of the known galaxy, they found it easy to lose track of the passage of time. In the skies above Hoth, the subtle changes in temperature and weather patterns that marked the transition between seasons were invisible to the eye, leaving the land locked in seemingly eternal winter. Indoors, the glare of stale artificial lighting and the featureless underground caverns concealed even the cycle of day and night. They lived their lives by their chronometers, waking, eating, reporting to duty, and retiring at the appointed hours as though they were droids.

But as regimented and featureless as their Echo Base service was, the young pilots and soldiers enjoyed ample free time to themselves. In the mess hall, training centers, and squadron lounge, they could devote their off hours to recreation, harmless pranks, and idle conversation. At times, Armin would smile at the thought that they had managed to bring an atmosphere of life and lightheartedness to the surface of a planet that had never before known human habitation.

But, even as laughs rippled around the squadron pilots' lounge in response to an offhand comment by Connie, Armin looked to the far wall across the room and was reminded of the grim, ever-present galactic backdrop to their banter. More so than the military uniforms they were wearing or the spartan if comfortable furniture around them, the posters and makeshift memorials fixed to the walls reminded Armin that this was no cantina, young workers club, or student common area.

Remember Aldaraan. The words stretched across the length of the room, printed in thin red lettering below the Alliance Starbird on a long white banner.

Below the banner hung several memorial plaques. Trinkets and mementos from past campaigns sat in the center small tables placed against the wall. A poster with the squadron's crest—a crossed pair of blue-and-white wings—graced the place of honor overlooking the rest of the lounge.

Ilse Langnar. A pilot from before Armin's time. Her name and several lines written in remembrance had been etched in gold across a panel scavenged from an X-wing's transparisteel canopy. While docking her damaged starfighter following a routine deep-space raid on Imperial shipping, her ship had suddenly lost power just short of the hangar doors, diving and crashing into the cruiser's hull.

The collection of items that the squadron had accumulated over time told their own story of the unit's history since its foundation. The assemblage included a TIE fighter pilot's helmet, recovered from the ruins of a destroyed asteroid base, a toy Star Destroyer, obtained during a raid on a shipyard planet, an ornate holochess set, liberated from an Imperial governor's luxury space yacht, a sandstone block from one of the abandoned pyramids on Yavin IV, and the most recent addition—a tauntaun skull to commemorate their arrival on Hoth.

Armin chuckled as he scrutinized the pale tauntaun skull. He turned to look at where Sasha was sitting upside-down in her armchair, legs draped over the back of the seat as she squinted at a datapad. Remembering how Bertholt's face had gone white when she had first brought the artifact into the lounge, Armin permitted himself a smile at the memory of how Sasha, Connie, and Eren had easily managed to convince him that Sasha had personally hunted down and consumed the tauntaun in question.

The culprits and the gullible victim in question were all present at the moment. Connie was pouring himself a third cup of caf from the machine in the corner of the lounge. Bertholt, exhausted from his patrol that day, was struggling not to doze off next to Thomas and Marco on the sofa.

Much of the rest of the squadron was scattered around the room. Dazz, Jean, and Reiner occupied the other long sofa, engaged in a heated argument over who the most attractive bachelorette on base was. As Armin watched, Dazz declared that Princess Leia was the most beautiful woman that he had ever laid eyes upon, immediately evoking furious, red-faced reactions from both Jean and Reiner.

"You can't be serious, Dazz—have you even _seen_ Christa?"

"Forget Christa! You must have been born blind if you think the princess is better-looking than Mikasa!"

Armin's eyes widened at Jean's outburst, but to his surprise, the expected reaction from Eren did not materialize. Searching the room for his childhood friend, he found Eren off to one side, to all appearances oblivious to the conversation taking place. Petra, Erd, Auruo, and Gunther sat around a table playing a four-way multiplayer datapad game of some sort. Hanji and Eren stood behind them with their eyes fixed on the small screens. Watching over the players' shoulders, the two of them shook their heads in unison just as Auruo let out a crow of victory and punched a fist into the air.

Only nine of the squadron's twenty-four members were missing. Commander Erwin, Captain Levi, and Captain Zacharius had been called to participate in a meeting. Hannah and Franz had withdrawn elsewhere to do Hannah-and-Franz things. Lastly, Christa, Ymir, Mina, and Mikasa had left together for the blaster range to determine who the second-best female marksman in the squadron was, having grudgingly been forced to concede over the past year that they would never compete with Sasha for the top title.

Looking around at the fourteen other pilots filling the room, Armin reflected on how close he had become with those around him since their transfer to Hoth. One year. One year had passed since the squadron had fought in combat last, since they had last raised glasses to the memory of comrades recently lost. Following the arrival of the new recruits three months ago, this constituted the longest length of time that Armin could remember in which the squadron roster had not changed.

"Hey Artlet!"

Armin jumped. The shout across the room had originated from Auruo, of all people.

Seeing that he had Armin's attention, the veteran chuckled before asking, "Is it true that Eren failed his pilot qualification exam three times before he finally passed?"

"Who told you that!?" Eren bellowed, causing Sasha to drop her datapad in surprise.

Auruo eased back in his chair and grinned at the younger pilot's indignation. "Kirstein did, which is why I didn't believe him at first."

"He did,He d" Armin admitted, shooting an apologetic glance at his friend before hastily adding, "but it wasn't his fault—his nav software was completely miscalibrated during his first three attempts."

Reiner spoke up, corroborating Armin's statement. "That's right. Eren passed with top marks once they repaired his X-wing."

"Jean, what are you trying to pull by telling everyone about that anyway!?" Eren exclaimed, rounding on Jean with a deadly glare.

Jean shrugged, his lips parting in a mischievous smile. "Well Auruo was just wondering why you haven't managed to score a kill in combat yet."

"Well, I'd like to see anyone score a kill with Mikasa as their wingmate," Thomas commented to general agreement.

"Jean, _you_ only bagged that TIE fighter over Rodia because Bertholt knocked out its engines…" Eren countered, bristling.

As Jean and Eren began trading barbs across the length of the room, Armin caught Reiner's eye and shook his head ruefully.

Privately, Armin found himself wondering yet again at the strangeness of their childish rivalry. How had the two of them ended up at such odds with one another when there was every reason for them to have become good friends? In truth, Jean and Eren shared far more in common with one another than they cared to admit—confidence, stubbornness, outgoing personalities, initiative, fierce loyalty to their friends and comrades, excellent piloting abilities, even the same boyish sense of humor.

Armin had never understood the pettiness of the conflicts that ignited from time to time between his fellow squadron members. Why did Captain Levi have to be so harshly critical of Mikasa's rare mistakes when she generally excelled in her duties to such an extent that she made perfection look normal and expected? There was no reason that Armin could think of for Ymir and Reiner to be unable to be on speaking terms, nor did Mikasa have any cause to be as terse and dismissive towards Sasha as she sometimes was. Was it so difficult for them to look past their meaningless disagreements and acknowledge the admirable qualities in one another?

At that moment, a gentle knock drew their attention to the ready room door.

"Password?" Connie called out jokingly, cutting through Eren and Jean's continued bickering. The rest of the room, however, fell silent and turned to face the entryway with curiosity. They all knew that no fellow squadron member would bother to knock before entering.

The person on the other side of the doors, however, seemed familiar enough with the squadron to know that neither a password nor a passkey were required. The doors hissed open, and the newcomer stepped inside before heading straight for the caf machine.

Connie laughed. "Oh, hey Annie."

As Armin predicted, the story of Annie and Chewbacca's hand-to-hand skirmish had spread throughout the base faster than lightspeed, with the result that Annie had begun seeking refuge in the Scouting Corps squadron lounge to avoid persistent requests by strangers to retell her side of the story.

Sure enough, Annie stepped up to the machine, poured herself a cup of the hot beverage, and leaned against the counter as she took a sip. As always, Armin marveled at how she could march straight into their midst without saying a word only to casually behave as though she'd been there all along.

"We should start charging you an admission fee to come in here," Gunther joked.

Annie ignored the comment.

"I should charge _all_ of you a fee for the privilege of being in my presence," proposed Auruo, guffawing loudly at the looks of deep exasperation that Petra, Gunther, and Erd immediately shot in his direction. Hanji chuckled, then snatched Auruo's datapad from his hands before he could react and swiped him gently across the head with it.

"Hey!" Auruo yelped.

Armin looked back at Annie and suppressed a smile. The way she just stood there, uninterested in all of them, one would think that she had the lounge all to herself. Still, something seemed oddly tense about her today…

"So Annie," Jean began with a yawn. "What have you Intelligence folks been working on these days?"

None of them expected Annie's peculiar reaction to Jean's question. Her eyes suddenly grew round in surprise, and she straightened. Setting her cup on the counter behind her, she exclaimed, "You don't know?"

She surveyed their bewildered faces, her expression suddenly darkening. Seeing that their confusion was genuine, she turned to Jean and explained, "The base is in an uproar. A surface patrol discovered an Imperial probe droid outside Perimeter Rose a couple of hours ago."

Instantly, the room fell into a deadly silence. A heartbeat passed before finally Erd leaned forward and demanded, "Was it transmitting?"

"We intercepted a transmission before it self-destructed," Annie confirmed. "Cryptology has just started working to decode it."

Once again, they sat in silence as the implications of what had happened dawned on them.

Jean looked as though he had turned into a ghost. His face pale and fixed in an eerie smirk, he croaked hoarsely, "Well… that's it then… isn't it?"

The four special operations pilots seated around the table looked the most shocked out of all of them. Their eyes were wide and unfocused as the four veterans stared across the room, their thoughts seemingly light-years away.

Armin's own mind was working furiously, trying to guess at the probability that the base's location had been revealed. Where had the probe been captured? In a way, it didn't matter whether the droid had managed to transmit the news of its discovery or not. The Alliance leadership was guaranteed to play things safe and abandon Echo Base rather than risk everything on the faint hope that the probe had been neutralized in time. But if a droid had been found on the planet's surface, what was the likelihood that Imperial forces were already on the planet?

Suddenly, they became aware of excited chatter and what sounded like a dozen pairs of military boots in the hallway outside. Before anybody could react, the door to the pilot's lounge had hissed open again.

Commander Erwin strode into the room, flanked by Levi and Mike Zacharius. Behind them followed the remaining members of the Scouting Corps squadron. Hannah and Franz ducked into the lounge next, their faces red. Behind them, Mikasa, Ymir, Christa, and Mina filed through the doorway.

Most of the group of newcomers, Armin observed, seemed apprehensive. The Commander, however, looked strangely alive as he walked towards the center of the room. The brooding, quiet squadron leader of the last few weeks was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a man with fire in his eyes and steel in his step as he mounted the low platform in the middle of the lounge.

The regular pilots hurriedly set aside their snacks, cups, datapads and saluted their commander. Even Annie pushed herself away from the counter and stood at attention. Sasha, wriggling to extricate herself from her chair, was the last to rise to her feet.

The commander nodded to acknowledge their salute.

"At ease, pilots."

Erwin frowned as he recognized Annie standing to one side, then smiled thinly. "I see. I take it that you have all heard the news, then."

As Levi and Mike took their places at his shoulder, the commander turned to face the rest of the squadron and raised his voice. "Two hours ago, Captain Solo and Chewbacca encountered and destroyed what we believe to have been an Imperial deep-space probe droid about three and a half kilometers northeast of the primary shield generator complex."

This time, there was no reaction to the news. Armin looked around the lounge and saw grim acceptance written across two dozen faces.

"General Rieekan has given the order to prepare the base for evacuation." Erwin continued. "Our squadron is to be deployed along with Rogue Group in direct participation in the base's defense. A battle alert is now in effect. We can expect Imperial forces to arrive in-system in as little as twelve hours."

Erwin paused, making sure that his previous sentence had sunk in.

"A more detailed briefing is scheduled for 0600 hours tomorrow morning in the main hangar. Report fully dressed for flight operations. That is all."

The commander finished speaking. Standing before them, he closed his eyes for a moment and visibly took a deep breath before exhaling as though meditating.

Annie was the first to excuse herself, leaving quietly through the doorway with as little ceremony as she had entered.

So their brief escape from the war had ended, Armin concluded bitterly. Once again, they would return to the nerve-racking cycle of desperate fight and flight—an endless pursuit across the stars that barely kept them one step ahead of the Star Destroyers and their legions of stormtroopers. He supposed that the clemency they had enjoyed had been too merciful to last. The galaxy, it seemed, always found a way of balancing happiness with grief, peace with strife.

He looked around the room. Christa appeared as if she was dreaming. Mikasa and Jean's expressions were fatalistic. Auruo had returned to his seat with a failed wisecrack that elicited only a grunt from Hanji in response. Seeing Mina trying to catch his eye, Armin glanced at her and read the deep worry in her frown.

As the commander stepped down from the raised area at the center of the room, Captain Levi had a final word for them.

"Get some rest, and be prepared to scramble at a moment's notice."

That night, none of them slept a wink.

OOOOO

"Attention base personnel, Imperial ships have entered the lunar perimeter! Prepare for immediate evacuation! All combat troops, report to your defensive stations!"

This was real. General Rieekan's transmission over the base intercom the next morning drove home the grim truth: the long-anticipated nightmare had materialized. The Empire had come.

There was no alert siren, as there had been on Yavin IV. Armin found the absence of an alarm blaring both eerie yet welcome. Instead, the pilots of the Scouting Corps squadron dressed in silence, save for the rustle of clothing and equipment, punctuated by the sound of metal lockers opening and closing. All around him, Armin's friends and squadron-mates bore forced, fixed faces as they dashed to and from their lockers, emptying them of their contents and pulling on their uniforms and equipment. Their expressions all revealed the same battling emotions: acute anxiety, disbelief, grim resignation—all clashing turbulently in their minds amidst their headlong rush in preparation for battle.

They left the locker doors wide open and their off-duty clothing strewn across the floor. Sasha's small holomirror. Mikasa's stuffed bantha toy. Jean's set of watercolor paints. Connie's collection of galactic souvenirs. These trinkets and more, the trappings of the base comforts that they had grown accustomed to, were shoved aside on their shelves and forgotten. Stepping and hopping over the discarded items, not one of them paid the slightest attention to the mess. All of them knew that this would be the last time that any of them would set foot in this room.

They jostled one another, stumbling amidst the confusion. Yet, though the ready room was packed with bodies, it seemed almost as though each pilot stood alone, lost in their own thoughts, solitary even amidst the crush of their fellows.

Mikasa moved as though dreaming, attaching her blaster, vibroknife, comlink, and emergency beacon to her belt with almost mechanical care.

On the other side of Armin's row of lockers, Reiner cursed softly as he dropped his flight helmet on the ready room floor with a clatter. He bent halfway to the ground to retrieve it before he realized that Connie had already picked it up and handed it back towards him.

Yet every so often, someone would seem to suddenly remember that they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow pilots, and they would break out of their reverie, cracking a joke laced with gallows humor, exchanging muttered fragments of conversation, or in some other small way acknowledging the friend or comrade at their side.

"Hannah, listen to me."

Hannah was shaking as she checked the life support unit sitting on her chest, when Franz reached out placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "We'll make it through this." His voice rang with confidence, but something in his eyes betrayed his own worries.

On the other side of the room, some of the most seasoned veterans of the squadron went about their standard pre-battle rituals. Brow creased with concentration, Hanji was staring at her datapad, tabbing rapidly through the pages of the same Imperial Navy manual on starfighter tactics that she had read front-to-back nineteen times before. Meanwhile, Gunther Schultz solemnly walked between Erd, Auruo, Levi, Erwin, and Petra and shook hands with each of them. Commander Erwin and Mike Zacharius, however, went through their preparations professionally and without fanfare, their faces grim.

For his part, Armin himself had begun to become accustomed to the terrible chaos of the hours and minutes before imminent combat. His fingers weren't trembling as they had been before his first battle, but they still felt cold and numb as he fumbled to close the fastenings of his pilot's harness.

"Hey Armin, are you all right?"

Eren had appeared at Armin's shoulder. The hair above his brow was damp with sweat, but otherwise, Eren Jeager appeared calm and ready. His green eyes, however, were narrowed with concern at his friend.

"I'm fine!" Armin exclaimed, finally managing to clip his insulated flight pants to his equipment belt. "It's just that…"

His voice trailed off. Armin's body was going through the familiar motions, checking the vacuum seals of his suit at the ankles, waist, and wrists, but his mind was racing as it imagined how the upcoming battle would unfold. Finally, he organized his thoughts and spoke, "We've raised the planetary shield… and that forces the Empire to launch a full assault directly on the shield generator itself." He looked up into Eren's face. "They're going to select the one option for an attack that we're not prepared to effectively resist—and we don't have the heavy weapons to stop them."

If the defenses failed to hold, it would be a miracle if they evacuated everyone in time. The most important equipment and personnel would be evacuated on the first transports. That in turn meant that the Alliance soldiers least likely to escape the planet alive were precisely those tasked to defend it—the infantrymen, the pilots, the artillery gunners, and the wounded from all the combat branches.

As if on cue, the base loudspeaker came alive a second time. This time, instead of General Rieekan's gruff, professional tone, the voice that spoke was the fiery bark of General Pixis, the commander of the base defenses at Perimeter Rose.

"Attention all base personnel! Imperial landing forces have been detected inbound at Perimeter Maria. All forces—prepare for ground assault!"

The broadcast ended, and the pilots immediately returned their attention to the task at hand, making their final preparations with redoubled haste. Eren, however, paused for a moment and gave Armin a broad smile. "We'll be fine. The Imperials won't be expecting Commander Skywalker's new tactics. We'll take care of their hovertanks, and our forces on the ground will cut their infantry into ground meat!"

Armin wasn't sure. The rebels' lack of heavy ordnance forced them to rely on a delicate combined-arms force for defense of the base. Any complications—communications jamming, maybe, or the neutralization of any one component of their forces—could compromise the integrity of the entire fortified line… Still, this was their Rebellion, and they had neither asked for nor expected an easy fight. And this was not the time for second thoughts. Armin nodded at his friend and gave him a grin in return.

Christa was the first to leave fully dressed for the hangars. Moments later, Ymir stuffed her comlink, blaster, and her remaining tools into her helmet as though it were a basket, thrust the whole collection under one arm, and raced after her. Commander Erwin and the rest of the Special Operations flight were the next to leave, marching through the ready room door as one. As he passed through the doorway last, Captain Levi turned over one shoulder and hissed, "Hurry up, you brats!"

Sasha followed them out the door, joined a minute later by Reiner and Mina. Then it was Armin's turn. His locker empty, he straightened, feeling his pilot's harness stretch across his chest.

Next to him, Eren was still pulling his flight boots on. Mikasa, looking fully prepared to climb straight into her airspeeder, stood over him impatiently with crossed arms.

"Eren…" she began.

"Just give me a moment!"

Seeing that his childhood friend was still a good deal away from full flight readiness, Armin decided to wait for Eren and Mikasa outside. Before he left, however, he took one last look down the front of his uniform and performed a final check. His harness and seals checked out, as did the blinking lights on his life support unit. His blaster, never once used in anger, sat in its holster at his right hip.

It was a familiar, comfortable uniform—the same flight suit that he had worn since his first mission. Below the tag with his name fastened to the uniform's left breast, he could see the rough threads where his lieutenant's insignia had been sewn over the previous rank badges. A terrible thought occurred to Armin at that moment, and a cold shiver ran through his arms right down to his fingertips.

Are these the clothes that I will die wearing?

The butterflies fluttering in Armin's stomach seemed to catch fire, consuming his insides with a sudden, sharp nausea. Immediately, Armin turned away from his squadron mates. Hoping that nobody had noticed his outbreak of nerves, he clambered towards the doorway to make his escape. He excused himself hoarsely as he pushed past Hannah, Bertholt, and Connie, then made his escape from the ready room.

His boots stepped from tiled floor plating onto the soft carpet of the junior pilot officers' lounge as the door hissed shut behind him.

The lounge—the same lounge that Armin and his squadron-mates had spent dozens of afternoons and evenings in—was eerily empty. Nobody was sprawled out over the sofas and hoverchairs with a cup of caf in one hand in a datapad in the other. Nobody was being demolished at holochess at the game table by Commander Erwin, who played with his eyes closed and had an undefeated record stretching back three years. As for the sound of laughter and banter—they too were freshly absent this place, leaving it as lifeless as a museum exhibit.

Armin's gaze rested on the small, raised section of floor at the room's center, occupied by a few armchairs and a low table. The Commander had stood right there, the previous night, when he had arrived to announce the fateful news.

Had it really been just nine hours ago that they had all been seated here without a care in the world?

With one last look at the unoccupied chairs and tables in the center of the room, Armin strode through the doors into the cold corridor beyond.

OOOOO

**Thanks for reading! As always, please leave a review, and don't forget to favorite and follow!**

**As you may or may not have noticed, in addition to my Shingeki no Kyojin mania I'm also an avid Star Wars fan as well as somewhat of an aviation buff, so apologies for all of the references and technological jargon that have managed to slip into this work.**

**Before anyone asks me, I think I'll go ahead and state up front that none of the characters from the Shingeki no Kyojin universe here are going to be revealed to be Force-sensitive. You can imagine this person or that person having latent Force sensitivity all you want if that's what you like, but it won't show up in this fic.**

**I have to say that writing has been a load of fun so far. Imagining the ways in which our beloved Shingeki no Kyojin characters end up rubbing shoulders with the great heroes of the Star Wars galaxy is truly wonderful to plan out.**

**It's also been somewhat of a challenge though. Most of my stories so far have had fairly small central casts, which has made it easier to give the characters plenty of 'screen time', so to speak. With such a large scale setting this time around, I'm doing my best to make sure that everyone gets some attention. It's a lot of careful work, though!**

**And yes, I've taken the liberty of assigning last names to Hannah, Dazz, and Franz.**

**Anyway, thanks again for reading, and stay tuned for more!**


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